Sticks and Stones
by tryandstunme
Summary: What if Ezreal could actually hear all the mean things everyone says about him? What if some of them were actually true? What if someone found out? Rated M for violence, depictions of bullying, and offensive language. Not a lemon. Pretty dark fic. Discretion advised.


**Author's notes**: So, this idea struck me. If, in the Institute of War, champions and summoners can pretty much freely interact, what does Ezreal think of all the summoners who say mean things, like he looks like a girl, or whatever else? That can't be a good feeling, right? And since Ezreal is my favorite champion but even I make fun of him sometimes, I wanted to write a story about him.

This isn't a happy story. Don't expect to laugh while you're reading it. (I hope you don't, otherwise I really failed at what I was trying to do.) It's not gonna make you feel warm and fuzzy. Hopefully. My intention was to write something pretty dark, so I hope I was successful. I really liked this story when I first wrote it, but the more I read it and edit it, the less I like it, so I thought I better publish it now before I decide to completely trash it.

Also, **one final warning, please read this**: the language/content may be sensitive for some readers, discretion is highly advised.

* * *

**Institute of War Mess Hall, 5:03 PM**

"What's wrong?"

Dammit. Lux was way too perceptive. Ezreal knew he should have sat somewhere else.

"Nothing."

Lux frowned as Ezreal poked at his mashed potatoes with his fork, refusing to meet her eyes. It wasn't like him to lie to her or keep secrets from her. They had been the best of friends ever since she had joined the League, and they always told each other everything. He also tended to eat big helpings at every meal, usually going back for seconds or thirds. But tonight, he'd been pushing his food around on his plate, cutting it into little pieces, and making sculptures with it, but hadn't eaten a single bite.

"Ezreal—"

He slammed his fist down on the table. "I said I'm fine!"

* * *

**Institute of War public restroom, 3:32 PM**

Ezreal stood by the towel dispenser, slowly drying his hands as he stared off into space. This was his favorite bathroom because it was way off in a corner of the Institute, so every time he used it, he was the only one there. It was just perfect for when he needed some quiet time after matches to just sit and think, like now.

Let's give Ezreal a new skin, they'd said. People will start to actually summon him more often, they'd said. This skin is really badass and cool, they'd said. Ha. He was indeed summoned more often, the higher-ups were right about that.

He threw the paper towels away, pulled his gloves back on, and glanced over at the full-length mirror across the room. He took in his own short, slender form, his own soft blond hair, and finally looked into his own wide, sky blue eyes. Ezreal couldn't suppress a sigh. He'd liked it better when no one had noticed him. No attention at all was better than _this_ attention.

* * *

**Institute of War Mess Hall, 5:04 PM**

The surrounding tables went silent as several people turned to stare. Hurt flashed across Lux's face. Shit. Ezreal hadn't meant to shout at her. _I'm sorry, _he wanted to say. _Let's go somewhere else and talk. I have something to tell you. _It was like he wasn't in control of his body. He heard himself sigh and felt himself stand and pick up his tray.

"I'm gonna go back to my room, I'll see ya later," he heard his own voice mutter. Before Lux could say anything else, Ezreal's feet quickly turned him around and started toward the tray return.

* * *

**Institute of War public restroom, 3:35 PM**

Did they think he didn't notice? Or did they just think it wouldn't bother him? Maybe it _shouldn't_ bother him. Maybe it _wouldn't_…if it weren't all true. Perhaps those weren't the exact words he would specifically use to describe himself, but it wasn't like any of the summoners whispered anything that hadn't crossed his own mind at some point. It wasn't like they pointed and laughed about anything he could deny.

Ezreal sighed again and threw the paper towel into the trash bin, then turned to leave the room. But suddenly, the door swung open and someone walked in.

* * *

**Institute of War Mess Hall, 5:04 PM**

Ezreal walked quickly, trying to keep his eyes on the ground. But for him, absorbing his surroundings was an instinct, and he couldn't help himself when he raised his head and glanced around the room. His eyes locked onto the cold, narrow ones of a summoner across the cafeteria.

The summoner winked.

Ezreal stumbled and nearly fell, just barely managing not to drop his tray. He walked faster, ducking his head, trying to hide the redness that had bloomed upon his cheeks, trying not to hear the raucous laughter that had suddenly erupted at the summoner's table.

* * *

**Institute of War public restroom, 3:37 PM**

A pair of murky green eyes met Ezreal's. Devious eyes. Cold, narrow eyes. The summoner grinned.

"Hey, pretty boy," he said. Ezreal winced internally at the nickname. "Fancy running into you here."

"Yeah, how about that," Ezreal replied, forcing out a chuckle. He just wanted to get back to his room and relax a bit before dinner. He knew that this summoner went by Ty, that this summoner had an Elo over 2k, and that this summoner was the one who whispered and laughed the most behind Ezreal's back. Ezreal couldn't even begin to wonder how many times he'd heard that toxic word leave Ty's lips, nor did he know why, of all times, of all the bathrooms, Ty had chosen to use this one, right now. But he certainly wasn't about to stand around and make small talk with such a person, especially not here. He made to walk around Ty, but felt a hand close around his elbow. Ezreal stopped, then turned to look into the summoner's eyes.

"Let go of me."

Those cold, narrow eyes flashed with irritation, but his voice remained calm. "I got a letter from the Institute today."

Ezreal blinked. "Uh…okay?...And..?"

Ty smirked. "Apparently other summoners have been complaining about my 'toxic behavior' lately. They think it might be time for me to take another break."

"Haven't you already been suspended, like, twice?" Ezreal commented flatly.

Ty's smirk faded into a sneer. "Yeah. And that last time would have been it, if it wasn't for you."

Ezreal was genuinely puzzled now. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about your stupid new fucking outfit," the summoner spat viciously. His fingers tightened around Ezreal's arm. "Everybody thinks you're so cool and now they all wanna summon you, so I keep getting matched with a bunch of fucking _morons_ who suddenly think they're good at League just 'cause they can play dress-up with Ezreal—"

"Cut it out," Ezreal interrupted, jerking his arm out of Ty's grip. He wouldn't admit it, but it had started to hurt a bit. Was this why Ty was here? Had he seriously followed Ezreal to this bathroom just to confront him about this? Ezreal didn't know, but it was definitely time to leave. But as he reached for the handle, a hand on his shoulder whirled him around and pushed him against the wall behind the door.

"Did I say we were done?" Cold green eyes bored into his own blue ones.

Ezreal scowled. "What do you want?"

"I want you to buy me a top laner."

"…Wait, what?"

"I can't jungle anymore, I'm sick of trying to gank for retards who think they can suddenly ADC because of you. So I want you to give me money for a new top laner."

Ezreal couldn't help but laugh. He was being robbed? Seriously? "I don't have any money, you moron. I'm an explorer, not some greedy hired gun trying to make a buck."

'Purchasing' League champions was more or less like hiring them to work for you. Working for the League of Legends was actually a pretty sweet deal – free room and board in exchange for their service, plus commissions from everyone who decided to summon them. Ezreal could probably be rich if he wanted to, but he simply wasn't interested. He told the League to keep their money and just let him off to explore once in a while, and he would be happy, so truthfully, he didn't have any of the wealth that some of the other champions possessed.

Ty frowned, like he didn't believe Ezreal or something. "Empty your pockets," he ordered.

Determined to show Ty what an idiot he was, Ezreal reached into his pockets without hesitation and started dropping everything onto the floor between them. Several pencils, a few pens, some bits of string, a small ruler, a protractor, gum wrappers, and a few interesting rocks fell noisily to the floor. No money. Before Ezreal could notice, a small folded piece of paper fluttered down after the rest of his belongings. Ty, however, sharp-eyed and quick as a summoner ought to be, snatched it up. Ezreal stiffened.

"What's this?" Ty inquired. Ezreal swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, then forced a laugh.

"What, that? Just a stupid map I was working on, of the grounds outside the Institute."

The summoner raised an eyebrow, then began to unfold the paper. Ezreal lunged forward to grab at it. Ty grinned. He held the paper up higher, out of Ezreal's reach.

"What's wrong?" asked Ty innocently. "I thought this was just a stupid map, right?"

"Give it back," snarled Ezreal. Ty paused, pretending to think it over.

"You know what?" he finally said. "I don't think I will. I think I'll unfold it and see what it _really_ is. What are you gonna do about it?"

Ezreal swung his fist at Ty, but the summoner, expecting that, easily ducked out of the way. He grabbed Ezreal's now-outstretched arm and used it to pull him forward, knocking him off balance and driving his knee straight into Ezreal's stomach. The champion fell to the ground, gasping for air.

"You're not good in close-range combat," commented Ty calmly as he began to unfold the paper. "Your reflexes are slow, and even just one hit disables you like this. That's why you sit back and shoot little magic bolts like a pussy, right?"

Ezreal almost managed to get to his feet, but Ty kept him down with a hard kick to the ribcage while he began to read out loud in a clear, mocking voice.

"_Dear Vladimir—"_

Gritting his teeth, Ezreal dove at Ty's legs. But the agile summoner leapt over him easily and stomped down between his shoulder blades, pinning Ezreal to the floor.

"Shut up," Ezreal spat. _Please just shut up._

"—_there's something I've wanted to tell you for a long time, but—"_

Ezreal rolled, breaking free of Ty's foot, and leapt to his feet. He winced from the growing pain in his torso, but he was absolutely determined to silence Ty, no matter what it took. His trusty blue bow materialized around the amulet chained to his left glove, and he fired off a bolt of arcane energy at the summoner. It hit Ty square in the chest, but to Ezreal's disappointment, his opponent barely seemed affected at all. In fact, now he looked pissed more than anything else. He swung his foot up, and before Ezreal could dodge or block it or anything, a heavy boot collided painfully with the side of his head, breaking the skin. He fell to the floor again, and this time, he stayed there. Ty cleared his throat and read on.

"—_but I've been too nervous. I wasn't sure if you'd feel the same way. But lately, I realized that I don't even care about that, and that I just couldn't live with myself if I didn't work up the nerve to tell you. I wanted to tell you—"_ Ty lowered the piece of paper, a wide grin plastered across his face, _"—that I'm in love with you."_

The silence lasted for years. The only sounds were Ezreal's labored breathing and the slow dripping of blood from his temple to the floor.

"Wow. That's adorable. I mean, I always thought you looked like a fucking faggot, but I never knew you actually _were_ one—"

"Shut up." Ezreal spoke very quietly, but his tone was full of hatred. That word stung more than he would let on.

Ty's grin grew wider. "I don't think you're exactly in a position to be giving orders here. I mean, I've got this faggy love letter that you wrote to a _guy_, and a _Noxian_, no less. What happened to 'I hate those guys'?"

"I _said,_ shut up."

"So were you actually planning to give this gay thing to him? I mean, it looks pretty beat up. You've probably had it for a while, right? I bet you just carry it around with you and never actually give it to him because you're too much of a pussy—"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

Ty was surprised that Ezreal managed to get to his feet so quickly and actually land a punch on his face. The summoner stood there for a moment, stunned, as Ezreal just glared at him. Then he raised a hand to his nose. When he pulled it away and looked at it, there was blood. The grin returned to his face. He lunged forward and seized Ezreal by the front of his jacket and drove his fist into the side of the champion's face. Then he threw another punch, and another, and more, until he let go of Ezreal's jacket and the explorer crumpled weakly to the floor.

"I'm not going to tell anyone," drawled the summoner, wiping his bloody nose on his sleeve.

Ezreal wasn't fooled. Ty's voice was not sweet or sympathetic or understanding. It was sly, clever, and beguiling, cold and cruel.

"What do you want?" croaked Ezreal.

Ty let his eyes wander over Ezreal's defeated form. He licked his lips.

"I want you to blow me."

Ezreal blinked, then lifted his eyes slowly until they locked onto Ty's. The summoner's expression was unreadable. Ezreal couldn't tell if he was serious, or if his own ears were even working right. "What?"

"You heard me. You're a fucking faggot, right? So you like sucking dick, right? So do it."

For a moment, Ezreal just stared. Then he started to laugh. He couldn't help it. He laughed and laughed and laughed some more until Ty grabbed a fistful of blond hair and tilted Ezreal's head back. Then Ezreal grimaced in pain for half a second and continued to laugh.

"What's so fucking funny, huh?"

"You're an idiot, that's what. What makes you think I won't just bite it off? I thought summoners were supposed to be smart. And besides…" he trailed off, grinning up at Ty, "since you want me to, what does that make you, huh?"

Ty sneered. "You look like a fucking _girl,_" he spat, "so I'm not worried about that. And hey, did you forget?" He brandished the love letter in front of its writer's face. Ezreal stopped laughing immediately. "You're not going to bite me. If you do, first I'm gonna wreck your stupid girly face, then I'm gonna make a thousand copies of this and slide them under every single door in the Institute. But I'll hand-deliver Vladimir's so I can make sure he sees it before anyone else does. What do you think of that?"

Ezreal glared at Ty.

"…How do I know you aren't just going to tell him anyway, whether I do it or not?"

"Do you really think you have a choice?" Ty said, his grin growing a notch wider.

Ezreal kept glaring silently.

"So you do it," Ty continued, "and I don't tell anyone about this gay letter. How's that sound?"

"What makes you think _I'll _keep quiet? How do you know I won't just tell Vladimir myself and turn you in to the League? You could get in a lot of trouble for this, maybe even get kicked out permanently."

"If you do…" Ty leaned down until he was almost nose-to-nose with Ezreal—"I don't care if I get kicked out or arrested. I _will_ find you, and I _will_ kill you."

Ty's green eyes were alight with bloodlust. Or maybe just regular lust. Ezreal wasn't sure. But either way, he could tell that the summoner was absolutely dead serious about that. He swallowed, unsure how to reply. Ty spoke first, anyway.

"Besides, that would involve you growing a pair, wouldn't it?"

Ezreal blinked. He wanted to protest, wanted to say that he could do it, that he _would_ do it, but he knew deep down that Ty was right, and that hurt most of all. He held the summoner's gaze for just a moment until he couldn't anymore and his eyes dropped to the floor. Ty smiled. The bathroom was momentarily silent until the sharp metallic sound of a zipper cut through the air. Ezreal squeezed his eyes shut as he felt Ty's grip on his hair tighten.

* * *

**Institute of War public restroom, 4:26 PM**

The bathroom was momentarily silent until the sharp metallic sound of a zipper cut through the air. Ezreal stared blankly at the ground. Ty was the one to break the silence.

"You shouldn't stay here too long. People might wonder where you are."

When it was clear Ezreal wasn't going to move, Ty turned to go.

"You're sick."

The summoner paused and tilted his head slightly. He turned back and took a final look at the champion huddled in the corner. The sight brought a smile to his lips.

"I know."

Ezreal raised his head to look into those eyes. Those cold, narrow eyes.

Ty winked.

He pocketed Ezreal's love letter and strode out of the bathroom. His cheerful whistling could be heard all the way down the hallway as he walked away. Long after Ty was gone, Ezreal just stared at the door.

* * *

**Institute of War public restroom, 4:49 PM**

Slowly, he started to get to his feet. He took shaky steps over to the sink and washed his face, using paper towels to scrub his skin. He gargled several mouthfuls of water but wasn't sure he could ever get rid of the taste. He washed his hands and dried them carefully, then put his gloves back on, gathered up his belongings from the floor, and stuffed everything back into his pockets. He was about to leave the bathroom when he paused and decided to look into the full-length mirror.

He raked his eyes across his split lip and the nasty-looking cut on his temple. His hair was tangled and frizzy. Despite his best efforts, a few drops of blood had made it onto the front of his jacket, though thankfully they weren't very noticeable. Finally, his eyes locked onto those of his reflection.

Staring back at him were two lifeless, gray windows to nothing. Ezreal gazed into the dead, flat pools in his reflection's eye sockets for the better part of a minute before a sound began to fill the bathroom. It was the jagged, staccato sound of hollow laughter, low at first, then rising in pitch and volume until it was near hysterical, echoing deafeningly in the small bathroom.

It took him several moments to realize that the laughter was his own.

* * *

**More author's notes**: Like I said, please review to tell me how I can improve. Notes about symbolism: look, I'm so cool and I can use symbolism! Eyes=windows to the soul, "sticks and stones may break my bones but words can shatter the soul," "lifeless, gray windows to nothing." I worked hard on those so I hope you caught them...

(((it's marked as 'incomplete' because i decided i want to continue it into a long fluff fic with a happy ending involving vladimir. i hope i don't kill it, please don't kill me, ahhh)))

(((Update: actually, i think trying to turn this into something longer would completely wreck it so i'm switching it back to 'complete'. sorry to everyone who followed this hoping for more, but there won't be. i might publish something separate though...maybe)))


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